Was That The Boogeyman?
by licoricewolf
Summary: It's been years since anyone heard from the Scarecrow, but that's not stopping Batman from investigating. AU.


Jonathan slumped in his old armchair, the stub of a cigarette held lazily between his lips like a comfortable good-knight kiss. His eyes were almost closed as he gazed into the fireplace in his study. He wasn't asleep yet, but he would be soon, and he knew it. He blinked a few times, half-heartedly trying to ward off slumber as a few ashes fell from his cigarette and onto the worn leather. He didn't mind.

There was a sudden cold draft, the fire flickered, and he closed his eyes. He stiffened slightly, his mouth pursing around the cigarette stub, a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening as he frowned slightly.

The windows creaked as they opened, as though the glass itself were moaning in pain. The drapes rustled and a heavy presence entered the room, like a small pebble dropped in water. It barely sent out ripples, but they were ripples nonetheless.

"Hello, Batman," Jonathan murmured.

"Crane." His voice was less frightening than Jonathan remembered it—it sounded less angry and more tired, not unlike himself. He slowly stood and turned to face the knight.

The years and miles had not changed him that much. While Jonathan's hair had started to grey and his sunken cheeks had been joined by slight wrinkles, the only difference in the Batman's appearance seemed to be that he was now more of a gargoyle than a statue of Michael—a taciturn savior, instead of Hell in a Kevlar cowl.

They stared at each other for about a minute in silence, neither one quite looking the other in the eye. Finally the knight broke the silence.

"Why Georgia?" he growled.

"I grew up here," Jonathan said, a bit coldly. "Or did you forget so easily?'

The Batman withdrew into his cape slightly. "What are you doing here?" he said stiffly.

"Presently, I'm getting a new cigarette," Jonathan replied, pulling a fresh cigarette out of a pack on the mantle and a lighter from his pocket. "I don't suppose you'd care for one?" he said dryly, offering the pack to the knight.

"You didn't answer the question, Crane," he growled. Ah, there was the anger. It was slowly building up. Jonathan could tell.

Before he could answer, there was a sugary scream from outside the study. There was a patter of feet, the door flung open, and all at once a tiny body hurled itself at the skinny man with a squeal.

"Daddy, Daddy, Mommy won't let me have a cookie!"

Jonathan swiftly gathered up the little girl before she could make her way too far into the study, his eyes darting towards the knight in what seemed to be… apprehension?

"I wanna cookie!" she said, sticking a clumsy hand into her mouth and giggling as she sucked on her fingers. In her other hand she clutched a scarecrow doll.

"She doesn't get any cookies until the morning, it's past her bedtime," said another voice. A young woman entered the study, watching the girl bemusedly, but her smile vanished as she saw the knight. She stiffened and her eyes widened, glancing between Jonathan and the Batman fearfully.

The knight himself froze as well, his frown shifting from anger to shock and concern. He took an imperceptible step back as the redhead moved over to Jonathan and clutched at the child in his arms.

"Mommy?" the little girl said inquisitively. "Who's that?"

She pointed blatantly at the Batman. Jonathan pushed the little girl into her mother's chest and muttered over her head, "Becky, go put her in bed—"

But the little girl clung to his shirt insistently. "Daddy, who is that?" she asked again, looking up at him. He pursed his lips and his brow furrowed, staring back into her wide brown eyes, taking in the smell of shampoo in her unruly brown hair, counting the constellations of freckles across her nose. She was so like her mother, so like Becky… He knew it was foolish, but he didn't want to lose her to the shadow in the window. He shifted her weight a little and turned back to the knight, only to find that he had gone.

Becky wrapped her arms wordlessly around him and hugged them both tightly. Jonathan realized that he had been holding his breath, and let out a sigh that ruffled both his wife and tiny daughter's hair.

She stared at the empty window in wonder for a few moments. Then she turned her face back to her father, her eyes wide and her mouth a tiny O of surprise, hugging he scarecrow doll to her chest as tightly as her little arms would allow.

"Was that the boogeyman?" she whispered.

Jonathan stared out the window, and then at Becky, who simply watched him from behind the little girl's hair. He looked back at their daughter solemnly.

"Yes," he said softly. "Yes, it was."


End file.
